


Rite of Passage

by Natalie L (nat1228)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, Holiday, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nat1228/pseuds/Natalie%20L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Blair's discovery of Jim's unusual tattoo put a damper on their budding relationship?<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Rite of Passage

## Rite of Passage

#### by Natalie L

Author's website: <http://www.squidge.org/~nat1228/jagjungle.htm>  
Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. No profit is being made from the posting of this story.   
  
Many thanks to my betas - Elaine, Lyn and Mary, without whose help you'd all be suffering through my typos and omissions. Give these ladies a wonderful round of applause, please. Any mistakes left are entirely my own fault.   
  
Many thanks to Lisa Duncan's Twin for the original idea that became the basis for this story. Once upon a time, quite some time back, she posted a list of possible "plot bunnies" to the My Mongoose mailing list to get the authors inspired. One, in particular, stuck with me, and after lo these many months the story is finally seeing the light of day. Thanks, Lisa! And a big thank you to "she-who-shall-remain-nameless-by-choice", who challenged me to write a Valentine's Day story and gave me a vehicle to present this particular plot.   
  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

February 14 -- a day dreaded by unattached men and women the world over. A day to be ignored, avoided if possible. A day to bury yourself in work and try to disregard the outrush of sappy romantic sentiments that abounded wherever you looked. Jim Ellison was one of those men. The frilly hearts and flowers that decorated the desks of several of his Major Crime colleagues filled him with scorn... and a vague longing he'd rather not dwell upon. 

After spending the better part of the day cleaning up the paperwork on a grisly murder--suicide case, all Jim wanted to do was get home and spend the evening quietly alone. Sandburg had been nowhere to be seen all day, making the detective suspect that his young partner was out wining and dining the current bimbo--of--the--week. Jim shook his head. That wasn't fair. Sandburg was young, attractive, and full of pent--up sexual energy. Why shouldn't he be enjoying himself in the arms of some beautiful woman? Frustrated and angry with himself, he shoved down the thoughts of resentment, squirming behind the wheel of the truck in an attempt to find a more comfortable position for his burgeoning erection. He was uncertain as to how Sandburg would react if he knew Jim's true feelings toward him -- all the more reason to be glad that the day was nearly over. 

@>\---------->\-------------------- 

Blair bustled around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the tossed salad he had made to go with Jim's favorite lasagna and crispy garlic bread. In deference to his roommate's allergies, a bouquet of a dozen foil--wrapped chocolate roses adorned a vase in the center of the table and a bright red envelope lay next to Jim's plate. Taper candles flickered in their holders, adding a romantic ambiance to the room. 

Blair's heart was thundering as he glanced up at the clock. Jim would be in the midst of traffic about now, nearly halfway home. If this worked, he could find himself spending the night in the most coveted room of the loft -- Jim's bedroom. If not, he could well find himself out on the streets via the balcony. 

@>\---------->\-------------------- 

Jim pulled into the parking lot and focused his senses on the apartment. Even from out here, he could hear the soft music playing and smell the aroma of pasta and garlic. If Blair were entertaining his date at the loft, Jim would cheerfully make a eunuch out of the young man with his bare hands. He was in no mood to spend the night out so that his partner could entertain. He opted to take the stairs, hoping that would give Blair enough warning -- not that the anthropologist could hear him coming; that wasn't the point. 

He stood in front of the locked door, his key poised, listening to the sounds from inside. He could hear Blair busily puttering around in the kitchen, his heart pounding out an excited rhythm. Concentrating harder, Jim determined that despite the young man's obvious arousal, he was still alone. Apparently, his date hadn't arrived yet. Maybe there was a chance for Blair to salvage his future children after all. 

Putting his key in the lock, Jim carefully opened the apartment's door. The anthropologist looked up from his preparations to smile widely at the detective. 

"Welcome home, Jim! Great timing, man -- dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Hang up your coat and get cleaned up." 

Jim tossed his coat onto a hook next to the door and strode over to the kitchen's island where Blair was tossing a salad coated with a light vinaigrette dressing. "What's the matter? Date didn't show?" 

Blair let the salad fork clatter into the bowl and turned to remove the lasagna from the oven. His heart rate skyrocketed as he carried the hot dish to the table. "No. No... He showed all right," Blair said, looking up nervously. "Right on time." 

"And what, exactly, do you mean by that?" Jim asked, following his partner over to the table. Noticing the card next to his plate, he fingered the envelope. "What's this?" He picked it up and turned it over several times, eyeing it suspiciously. 

"Pretty much just what it looks like," Blair replied carrying the garlic bread in one hand and the salad in the other. "Happy Valentine's Day, Jim." 

Jim flicked the envelope open with his thumb and pulled out a card with a big heart on the front. He looked warily up at Blair, whose heart rate hadn't slowed since Jim had walked through the door, and back down at the card with its flowery words and mushy sentiment. It was signed, "Love, Blair." He dropped the card next to his plate and pulled out his chair. "Are we going to eat, or not?" 

"Oh, sure, sure!" Blair agreed, quickly pulling out his own chair and sitting down. He pushed the pan of lasagna toward Jim and handed him the spatula. As Jim was shoveling the pasta onto his plate, Blair helped himself to the salad. "So, how was work today?" he asked, anxious to get Jim's mind off the card. 

"Closed the Emerson murder--suicide case," Jim replied, piling garlic bread beside the pasta and taking the salad bowl from Blair's hand. 

"Good." Blair nodded, keeping his eyes on his food. "That one was really nasty." 

"Yeah," Jim agreed, taking a bite of the lasagna. After a few minutes of silence, he cleared his throat. "This is good," he commented, pointing his fork down at his plate. "You went to all this trouble for me?" 

Blair's cheeks turned rosy and he nodded, still concentrating on his meal. "Does it bother you?" he finally asked, glancing up through long, dark lashes to steal a glance at the handsome face across the table. 

Jim paused, just long enough to watch his friend begin to squirm. "No," he answered slowly. "No, it doesn't. Actually, it's kind of nice." The silence stretched on, the tension thick in the air between the two men. Jim picked up the card again, opening it to read the poem and glance at the scrawled signature -- Love, Blair. His heartbeat tapped out an irregular rhythm and he could feel the swelling in his groin begin to reassert itself. 

Across the table, Blair choked on his garlic bread. Pushing the chair back, he made a beeline for the bathroom, letting the coughing fit cover his embarrassment. This was it -- the moment of truth. He waited for the inevitable, trying to calm his trembling. 

A shadow fell across the doorway, and Blair turned to see Jim silhouetted by the dim glimmer of candlelight. "You okay, Chief?" The words were spoken softly, with genuine concern. He managed to nod, turning away from the imposing figure. A hand came to rest on his shoulder, turning him back around. Jim held out the glass of wine he'd brought with him from the table. "Sip," he ordered. 

Blair took the goblet and tipped it, letting the cool liquid slide down his raw throat. 

"Whoa. That's enough," Jim said, taking the glass back. He wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders and guided the younger man back out into the main room of the apartment. Settling Blair on the couch, Jim sat beside him. "Care to explain to me what that was all about?" 

"I choked." Blair's voice was barely above a whisper. 

"I noticed that," Jim said, nodding. A ghost of a smile played across his lips. He could smell his partner's arousal; hear the erratic staccato of his heart. "Care to tell me why?" When Blair didn't answer, Jim probed again. "Did it have anything to do with the card, or with the reason you made a romantic Valentine's dinner -- for me?" 

Blair finally looked up. Gathering his strength, he took a deep breath and plunged forward. "If you want me to leave, I can be packed and out of here by tomorrow," he said in a rush. 

Jim backed off in surprise. "What makes you think I'd want you to move out?" 

Blair shrugged. "It's not every day your roommate, your male roommate, makes a pass at you," he spoke softly. "I--I just had to let you know how I felt, regardless of the consequences. I couldn't keep the secret anymore. I love you too much and I knew that sooner or later, I'd slip up and you'd find out." The words came out in a rush, Blair's voice growing stronger. "I thought this was as good an occasion as any to lay my cards on the table, but I'd understand... I mean, you like women..." He stuttered to a stop when Jim's hand gripped his jaw, holding his head still. 

The detective leaned forward, pressing a firm, chaste kiss against the full lips. "Shut up, Sandburg," he growled. "Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?" 

Blair nodded. "All the time, man. All the time." 

Jim rose from the couch, dragging Blair up with him. As they began the ascent to the loft bedroom, Blair's soft voice drifted up from behind. "So this means you're not throwing me out?" 

@>\---------->\-------------------- 

Reaching the top of the stairs, Jim pushed Blair over to the bed. The back of the younger man's knees connected with the mattress and he sat down hard. "Of course I'm not throwing you out," Jim answered, his voice a mixture of exasperation and longing. "You meant what you wrote on the card?" 

"Huh?" Blair looked dumbly up at his roommate. Hope and confusion warred in his mind as his heart raced, pumping blood to the lower regions of his anatomy. 

"'Love, Blair'," Jim repeated patiently. "Because I've wanted to say the same thing; only I thought you were into women." 

"Well, I--I..." Blair stuttered as strong hands began to unbutton his shirt. "I do. I do like women, but ah... AH!" The exclamation was ripped from him as Jim's thumb brushed across his nipple. 

"Like that, did you?" Jim asked, a sly grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "How about this?" He leaned down, latching his lips over the nipple and suckling, teasing the hardening nub with his teeth as his hands busied themselves with Blair's belt. 

"Oh, God!" Blair arched back, falling onto the bed and bringing Jim with him. His fingers began to scrabble at Jim's shirt buttons as his partner's nimble hands pushed down his jeans and boxers, freeing his erection to bob enticingly in the cool air. 

"This is what you want?" Jim asked, pulling at the jeans that had pooled at Blair's feet, freeing the young man completely from his clothing. 

"Yes! Oh, God... yes!" Blair panted, tugging at the tight denim that Jim wore. He finally managed to free his partner of all clothing except the black, silk boxers. He slipped his fingers inside the waistband, in preparation to pull the underwear down, when Jim stood up and backed away, frowning. "What's the matter? Jim?" He looked at his potential lover with confusion. "Did I do something wrong? You gotta tell me, man, 'cause this is new territory for me." 

"No." Jim shook his head. "No, you didn't do anything wrong." It was the detective's turn to be embarrassed. "It's not you, Blair. It's... it's..." 

"What?" Blair asked. "You got me naked in record time, but you won't show me yours. Why?" His forehead crinkled as he frowned. "You've changed your mind, haven't you?" he accused. "This isn't all it was cracked up to be. I'm short, hairy, and have a dick -- not exactly your type." 

"Yes, exactly my type," Jim corrected softly, sinking onto the mattress next to his distressed partner. He let his fingers drift up the length of the quivering shaft. "You're beautiful, Chief. You're exactly what I want; what I've always wanted." 

"Then what...?" Blair asked, waving a hand in the air to indicate his confusion. 

"It's... me," Jim confessed. "I--I've got a secret, too; one that's caused me a lot of pain over the years." 

"Look, Jim," Blair said gently, running a caressing hand over a broad shoulder, "if we're going to have a relationship, we shouldn't have any secrets between us. You can tell me." 

Jim took a deep breath as he made a microscopic study of the dust specks between the floorboards. When he spoke, his voice was hushed. "I have a tattoo." 

Blair's eyes widened. "A tattoo?" Jim nodded, his face flushed with embarrassment. "That's nothing. What's a little tattoo?" 

"It's not the tat itself," Jim explained. "It's where it's located." 

"On your butt cheek?" Blair guessed. He suddenly realized that even after over three years of living with his Holy Grail, he had never once seen Jim completely naked. Now that he thought about it, it seemed very odd indeed. Jim shook his head. "Well, then, where?" 

Jim stood up and faced Blair. "Promise you won't freak out?" 

Blair blinked slowly, digesting the odd request. "Why would I freak out?" 

"Carolyn freaked out. Lila, Veronica, Margaret -- they all freaked out," Jim told him. "Why do you think none of my affairs ever last for more than a handful of dates?" 

Pursing his lips, Blair considered what Jim said, and then shook his head. "I won't freak out," he promised, crossing his heart with the index finger of his right hand. "So help me God." 

Jim took a deep breath and released it slowly, then slipped his fingers in the waistband of his boxers and slid them off his hips. His nerves had worked a number on his libido, and his cock hung limply between his slightly parted legs. 

Blair stared at the magnificent organ. It was covered with chevrons, circles and swirls, a solid sea of colors: red, green and black, mostly, with highlights of yellow -- from the root to the tip of the flared head. He took a deep breath, slipping to his knees in front of Jim so that he was eye level with the tattooed cock. "It's beautiful!" he sighed. 

Jim shifted nervously, frowning slightly as he allowed his right hand to rest on top of Blair's head. He twitched when the young man reached up to reverently touch the bright colors, bringing the reluctant organ back to life. 

"How? Why?" Blair's voice was soft and full of awe. 

"Chopec ritual," Jim managed to gasp out as a warm mouth engulfed the glans, a tongue toying with the leaking hole. "The boys..." he sucked in another breath. "The boys are sent out to hunt on their own when they turn fourteen or fifteen. They stay out until they can bring back a substantial kill to the tribe. The hunt is their rite of passage into manhood. When they return, they're tattooed like this to show that they've become men." 

"And the Chopec made you attend the same ritual," Blair said, fascinated by the story. "As their Sentinel, you would need to prove your worthiness." 

"Yesssss..." Jim hissed, bucking his hips in Blair's direction until the talkative anthropologist took the hint and employed his mouth to a task other than speaking. His talents brought Jim to the brink of orgasm when... 

"Carolyn was freaked by the tat?" 

"Urrrrrrrgh!" Jim growled, frustrated by the sudden cessation of the orgasm--inducing suction. "Yes! Yes, she was, dammit!" 

Blair shook his head. "Just look at it! It's gorgeous, magnificent!" 

"She said it made her queasy," Jim ground out between clenched teeth. 

"Then why did she marry you?" Blair wondered, looking up into Jim's twisted face. "If she knew she couldn't stand to see you naked, how did she ever think she'd make a go of the marriage?" 

"She thought she could get used to it," Jim told him, hoping that if he satisfied his lover's insatiable curiosity that the young man might get back to the job at hand -- or rather mouth. "But she never did. She hated sex. Refused me more often than not. It was one of the major contributors to our divorce." 

"Really?" Blair shook his head, staring at the penis that bobbed and twitched colorfully before his eyes. "She was a fool." 

"Sandburrrrrrg!" Jim cried, balling his hands into fists in an effort to control his urge to finish the job himself. 

"Oh. Right!" Blair blushed and shut up, wrapping the cock in the warmth of his mouth -- sucking and licking before drawing back once more, leaving Jim teetering on the brink of climax. "I want you in me," he confessed softly. "I want this in me." He fondled the trembling cock, looking at it lovingly. 

The request stunned Jim, taking the edge off his impending orgasm. He bent over, taking Blair by the arms and helping to lift him onto the bed. They settled into the center of the mattress, facing each other. Jim lifted a hand and gently caressed Blair's cheek, staring into the depths of his blue eyes with wonder. "You want me inside you?" he asked, dumbfounded. "It--it really doesn't bother you?" 

"No way," said Blair quietly. "No way does it bother me. I always knew that making love to you would be special, only I never knew how special, until now. I want you, Jim. Please...." 

"Roll over," Jim commanded, as he reached for the drawer of the nightstand to grab a tube of lubricant. 

Blair rolled onto his stomach and waited. Soon, a finger coated with the cool gel teased at his opening, breaching the tight ring of muscle with only a small stab of pain. "Oof!" Blair let the little explosion of air escape as he concentrated on relaxing and letting his lover inside. 

Jim hesitated. "Am I hurting you?" He stopped all movement, his index finger inserted up to the second knuckle in the tight channel. 

"Nuh--uh," Blair gasped, shaking his head. "It's good." 

Not totally convinced, Jim continued his stretching, but moved slowly, making sure with each new addition that Blair was handling the invasion comfortably. Finally, he was satisfied and withdrew his fingers. Placing his hands on the slender hips, he positioned his cock and pushed slowly inside. A long moan issued from beneath him and he stopped once more. "Blair?" 

"So good... Oh, God, Jim... So good." The words slid softly from parted lips. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop." 

Bending over Blair's back, Jim showered kisses across the strong shoulders, burrowing into the cascade of silken curls covering his lover's neck as he continued his slow conquest of the willing body. Finally, his balls pressed against the warm flesh of Blair's ass and he realized with a sense of contentment that this time he wasn't going to be rejected. 

Blair began to squirm beneath him. Filled to a point where he felt the need to move or split apart, the anthropologist had pulled his knees beneath him and had began a slow rocking motion designed to move the cock that owned him. 

With a last quick peppering of kisses, Jim pulled upright, bracing himself against the slender hips and beginning a slow, thrusting rhythm. The fingers of his right hand wrapped around Blair's straining cock, pumping in time with his internal cadence. 

"Ahhhhhh... Ohhhh..." The moans were followed by inarticulate grunts as Blair bucked back against Jim in counterpoint to his partner's thrusting. Sweat glistened on his flesh and his cock leaked a steady stream of pre--come, lubricating the fist that was hastening his climax. 

Picking up the tempo, Jim angled his thrusts, brushing against the raised nub of Blair's prostate and eliciting a howl from his lover. Blair plunged over the brink, his cock pulsing with the force of his orgasm. Pressure from the contracting muscles in his lover's ass brought Jim to the edge, pushing him over shortly after. They collapsed in a sweaty heap, breathless and speechless, as the warmth of their mutual completion swept through them. 

Jim rolled off his smaller partner, pulling Blair against his chest as he settled onto his side, his softening cock still buried in the heat of his lover. Reaching one hand up, he brushed the long strands of damp hair away from Blair's face, and then leaned down to kiss him. 

Blair turned in the embrace, meeting Jim's lips with a gentle urgency. When they finally broke apart, Blair was grinning from ear to ear. 

"What?" Jim asked, curious and yet slightly affronted by the mischievous look on his lover's face. 

"Those lovely ladies in your life will never know what they're missing," Blair quipped. "God, that had to be the best fuck this side of heaven!" 

Jim looked up from where he had been nuzzling the damp hair behind Blair's right ear. "You really think so?" he asked almost shyly. "It didn't bother you -- the tattoo, I mean?" 

Blair pulled away from Jim, turning in his lover's arms to face the uncertain man. Cupping the limp organ in the palm of his hand, his eyes sparkled with desire. "This is a work of art; it's a part of you," he whispered reverently. "How could I not like it?" 

"The women --" 

"The women were fools," Blair interrupted. Reaching up, he placed a palm against Jim's cheek. "You are the most considerate, gentle, giving lover that I have ever had. I couldn't possibly ask for more. The color of your dick doesn't make a bit of difference to me. Besides," he said with a teasing grin, "it's very tribal. Right up my alley as an anthropologist, you know." At Jim's answering scowl, Blair leaned in to give his lover a kiss. 

@>\---------->\-------------------- 

The next morning, the bed was ripe with the smell of spent passion and sweat. The sheets were rumpled, pulled from their neatly tucked corners to bunch in the middle of the mattress. Two pair of arms and legs tangled together like the extremities of some exotic living thing. 

The alarm jangled, startling the strange, eight--limbed creature to wakefulness. Reaching over Blair's back, Jim hit the button that turned off the noise. A head lifted off the pillows to blink sleepily at the detective. 

"Up and at 'em, Chief," Jim said cheerfully. 

Groaning, Blair rolled over and Jim felt another flash of desire course through him at the sight of the disheveled body. Dried semen flaked in the dark chest hair, coating one nipple while leaving the other a rosy brown. A flaccid and well--used penis hung limply across a muscled thigh, bringing sparks of memory back to his mind. His "work of art," as Blair seemed pleased to refer to his cock, was stirring to life again. Jim had sworn when they collapsed after a fourth session of passionate lovemaking, that it would never get hard again. 

"Come on, Blair," he tried again. "We need to get up and get showered. I wouldn't want to try and explain this to Simon." 

"Why would you need to 'splain this to S'mon?" Blair mumbled, rolling over to press against Jim's chest. 

"Because, Einstein, he'd want to know why we were late to work," Jim explained. 

"Tell him it was Val'ntine's Day." 

"That isn't going to cut it," Jim said firmly, pushing away the delectably rumpled man. 

Arms reached out to pull Jim back against firm flesh, and the detective realized that he wasn't the only one turned on by their morning situation. "Call in sick," Blair suggested. "Just fuck me again, lover. Please." 

Cupping his hands around Blair's face, he gazed into the blue eyes that were so filled with longing. "Not this time, babe," he said softly, cushioning his refusal with gentle kiss. "We have to get up and get going. We both need a shower." 

"Together?" Blair's voice was hopeful. 

Jim nodded and climbed out of bed, reaching a hand out to help Blair up. The younger man trailed behind, following his lover to the bathroom. Steam soon filled the small room and the two men stood under the hot spray. Blair tipped his head back, gratefully allowing the water to saturate his hair. 

Pouring a dollop of shampoo into his palm, Jim pulled his lover against him. "Here, let me," he offered, massaging Blair's scalp as he worked up a nice lather. When he was satisfied that he'd done a sufficient job on the thick mop of hair, he moved his hands down to work some of the shampoo into the matted chest hair. With a sigh, Blair leaned into his embrace, resting his head back on Jim's shoulder while the older man cleaned his chest. The warm hands brushing his nipples sent electric shocks through his body and his cock answered by springing to life. 

Jim's hands drifted lower, encountering the firm shaft that stood erect against Blair's belly. With a groan, the younger man turned in his lover's arms and tipped his head up for a kiss. Jim complied, pressing their bodies together, rigid shafts fitting against each other like two pieces of a puzzle. The kiss deepened as the two men ground against one another creating a delicious friction that soon brought both to the pinnacle of climax. 

They finished their shower as quickly as their sated bodies would allow, rinsing the heavy cloud of lather from Blair's hair and scrubbing them both with quick precision. As Jim was reaching to shut off the water, Blair took one last, loving look at the colorfully tattooed cock. "You are so beautiful," he whispered. "I can't believe that I waited this long..." 

"You're the beautiful one," Jim corrected gently, gathering Blair into his arms. "You believe in me, love me, despite all my quirks." 

"No, man, you've got it all wrong," Blair protested. "You're --" 

Jim broke the embrace, and the argument, silencing Blair with a forefinger pressed against the full lips. "Shut up, Sandburg, and wait here," he instructed. 

With a towel wrapped around his waist, Jim made his way over to the front door and began digging in his coat pockets. "I know I put it in here somewhere," he mumbled, fingers finally contacting the object he sought. 

Blair had wandered into the living room, watching his partner with curiosity and a healthy amount of confusion. 

Jim walked over and handed him an envelope. "Here. Open it." 

Trembling fingers broke the seal and pulled out a deep red card with a lace heart on the front, the words "Will you be mine?" written in the center in flowing script. Opening the card, his eyes fixed on the handwritten note: "I love you, Jim." He looked up, the card fluttering from numb fingers. "I--I thought you hated Valentine's Day." 

"I do," Jim agreed, moving closer into Blair's personal space and resting his hands on the younger man's shoulders. "But it seemed like a good time to tell you how I feel." 

"Yeah, me too," Blair whispered. "You... you were going to g--give this...?" 

Jim nodded. "But I could smell the dinner you were making, and I thought you had a woman friend over to visit." He blushed as memories of his unfounded jealousy surged through him. "I was... upset." 

"You were willing to risk..." The thought made Blair pause. "You didn't know how I'd react to the tat," he mused. "And yet you were willing to risk your heart..." 

"Turns out it wasn't much of a risk," Jim said, smiling. One arm slipped around Blair's back while the other cushioned his head, bringing their lips together once more. "I love you, Blair Sandburg." 

"Oh, God, Jim... me too. I love you too," Blair gasped, coming up for air after their kiss. 

Jim separated from his lover, holding the man at arm's length. "Why don't you go put fresh sheets on the bed?" he suggested. "I have a phone call I need to make." 

With only a slight hesitation, Blair headed for the stairs, pausing at the top as Jim began to speak into the telephone. "Yeah, Simon, it's Jim," he began. "I must have gotten hold of some old chow mein from the back of the fridge... Yeah," he continued, after listening to his boss, "I'm really out of it today. Maybe I'll be able to make it in tomorrow..." 

* * *

End 

Rite of Passage by Natalie L: nat1228@comcast.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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